


In the Lion's den

by Eydis



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence - Red Wedding, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Older Arya, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-02-26 15:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2657621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eydis/pseuds/Eydis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war have been at pause for years giving Tywin time to realize who his cupbearer is. And what a potential weapon this new information can be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Patience

The girl paced through the room attending her duty; making sure every cup was filled with water. In other circumstances it would've been wine, but they've been trapped in that room for hours, inexhaustibly searching for a tactic that would destroy the Young Wolf and his chance of winning the war, so wine wasn't required at the moment.

Lord Tywin looked around the room whilst he took a deep breath.  _Fools_ , he thought gritting his teeth,  _I'm surrounded by fools._

The council meeting have proved to be useless. Every idea his men dared to pronounce was even more stupid than the former, and Lord Tywin was losing his patience. They had his son, the northerners. His heir, despite what the goddamn cloak he had willingly put around his shoulders stated, Jaime was the heir to Casterly Rock. And he was a prisoner, _have been_ a prisoner for a while now, and his safety was at risk. The Lannister name was at risk. Because, without Jaime, who would inherit everything the lions owned and live up to it? Tyrion, that _facetious hideous_ little _monster_? Tommen, a boy so firmly caught under his mother's claws he was drowning? Or Myrcella, who now was a jewel hidden inside the Martell's chest? 

 _No._ Jaime _had_ to get out of this alive,  _unharmed_. And still, there were so many things that required his attention. Stannis in Dragonstone, doing the Gods knows what. The Tyrells in Highgarden, deciding what side of this stupid war could benefit them more, what family would repay their help the most. Robb Stark in Riverrun, refusing to march back to Winterfell to fight the Greyjoys, leaving the whole North in jeopardy for the sake of avenging his father who had been dead for nearly five years. 

And the girl pacing through the room, silently watching, carefully learning.

She seemed oblivious to Tywin's knowledge of her identity, though it was painfully obvious. It was clearly painted in the grey of her eyes, as hard as the northern wall; it was clearly painted in the sharpness of her cheekbones, in the color of her hair, in the paleness of her skin, the coldness of her stare, in her knowledge of the northern ways, in the way she carried herself, in the way she talked, in the regal poise she stood.

She was obviously a northern girl, he'd known so for a long a time. He became aware of her noble birth a short time later. But it wasn't after a few years he realized how much she started to resemblance the beauty of a woman who have been dead for almost twenty years. A beauty so great it had led to the beginning of a war long in the making.

A beauty the girl had slowly grown into. A beauty the girl was slowly surpassing. 

She was Lyanna's niece, Ned's daughter, the North's princess, Robb's sister. She was Arya Stark of Winterfell, hiding right under Tywin's nose. 

The girl was smart, he'd give her that. Smart and cunning, with a reply always ready at the tip of her tongue. A quality not much appreciated in servants, but amusing in Tywin's eyes. She was a quick-witted, sharp-eyed, clever little girl who was as fierce as the direwolf that stood proudly on her family's banner.

She was valyrian steel. A powerful mineral that manipulated correctly could become a deadly weapon. A deadly weapon that wielded by the right hands could change the course this war was following. But she needed to be tempered, forged and molded into the perfect form. And it needed time, everything needed to be carried out carefully at the right time.

He had guards watching her every move, every single moment of the day. She didn't take a breath without him knowing and yet it all seemed pointless. _When_ was the perfect moment to put his plan in motion? _When_ would she decide she had enough, and run away from Harrenhal? It was a possibility, after all. She was smart enough to get away with it if his guards weren't watching her so closely.

But he had to wait, he knew that. Things were static for some reason and he was not going to be the first one to make a move, he wasn't in the position for it. Thanks to Cersei, thanks to goddamn Joffrey, the Lannister didn't had to upper hand in this war, not at the current time.

So he waited. And would keep waiting as long as he had to. And, if she was as smart as he thought her to be, she would wait too.

He watched her silently as she paced through the room attending her duty and, for a moment, he allowed himself to dream the outcome of his plan and he _smiled_ in what felt like the first time in years. She could be magnificent, she _would_ be magnificent, under the right guardianship, under the right circumstances.

He just had to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, there are a lot of things I need to explain about the set up of this fic and the alternate universe I have placed it in.
> 
> First of all, the characters labelled in the tags are the only ones I'm dealing with. Mainly, I have two plots: Arya and the Lannisters - Robb and his bannermen. There are a few characters that will make an appearance because of what I like to call collateral damage since I am changing big events here, and it's like a butterfly effect: a little change up here will turn into an avalanche down there, so yeah, characters like the Greyjoys will show up now and then. But there are other characters I'm turning a blind eye on. Like Stannis, the Targaryens, Dorne, the Citadel, or the Others, the wildings and the Night's Watch. Basically, I'm totally ignoring their existence. Why, you may wonder, and here's the answer: because I am not GRRM. I can't deal with all those parallel plots (at least not in the way I want this fic to evolve) and I'm not even going to try to (seriously, GRRM is a genius).
> 
> Secondly, I'm taking a lot of liberties with this AU. The thing goes like this: It has been five years since Ned's execution, Tywin's still at Harrenhal, Robb's at Riverrun, Winterfell is in ruins and under the command of the Boltons who have sided with the Greyjoys, Bran and Rickon are thought to be dead, Walder Frey died during the war (because he was really, really old) so Stevron is now the Lord of the Crossing therefore the Freys are loyal to Robb. Robb did break his oath to the Freys and married a different girl (though he did not married Jeyne Westerling or Talisa Maegyr), Edmure married Roslyn (but since Stevron is alive, nobody died, yey!) and Arya is still expected to marry Elmar. Renly is dead (I'm not going into details. He's just dead) so the Tyrells retired to Highgarden to think their next move carefully. Stannis the Mannis is in Dragonstone doing nothing because I can't deal with his awesomeness. The same can be said of Daenerys: she's somewhere, doing nothing because I can't deal with her. Everything is pretty much the same as in ACOK in King's Landing because, again, Stannis is doing nothing. Tyrion is Hand of the King, Joffrey is a douche, Sansa is hanging there and Cersei is just... well, you know, Cersei. Myrcella is in Dorne (doing nothing as well. Take it as vacations for all this other characters. Vacations from the horror) and Prince Oberyn will stay in Dorne and live happily ever after with Ellaria.
> 
> And, as a last comment, I'm not a native english speaker so I apologize beforehand for any mistakes of any kind.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this little introduction and I'll upload the second chapter soon . Please, leave a comment! I would love to know your opinion of this fic.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> -Eydis.


	2. Diligence

Tywin was looking out the window, quietly sipping his wine, when his peace was disturbed by a knock on his door. He considered the possibility of sending whoever was outside away and decided against it. It could be important, after all.

"Come in", he ordered, putting his cup of wine on the table and sighing quietly. He was tired. Tired of the monotonous situation he was in, tired of waiting, tired of staying in Harrenhal. _A castle made of ashes, a castle filled with ghosts.  
_

One of his guards opened the door and bowed briefly as he greated him: "My Lord."

"What?". He was in no mood for useless courtesies.

"Lord Baelish is here. He desires to speak with you, my Lord." 

 _Littlefinger. What could Littlefinger want?_ He just nodded as an answer and stayed silent whilst the guard looked at him expectant.

"Uhm, my Lord?"

"You are going to stand there, looking like a fool, or are you going to bring Baelish here?"

"Sorry, my Lord. I'll tell him to come in, my Lord."

 _Blubbering fool._ He served himself more wine and called for one his must trusted guards, Loren Lefford. If Baelish was around, he wanted the girl out of the whoremaster's way. Whoever trusted Baelish was a fool and he wasn't going to let one of his most treasured weapons walking around such a creature.

"You called, my Lord?", Loren asked as he walked into the room. 

"Who's guarding the girl today?"  

"Damion Drox and Lucion Foote. I believe she's in the kitchens."

"Good. Go tell them to make sure she stays there, I don't want her anywhere near here until Baelish leaves. Understood?"

"Yes, my Lord."

With a movement of his head he commanded Lefford to leave just as Baelish walked in, outlining his usual smile.  _I do not trust you, Littlefinger. I do not trust you at all._ The man had always seemed too secretive, too pleasing, too much of a liar. Tywin never knew what he truly wanted, what he truly aimed for. Sure, the man obviously wanted power, that much was obvious, but his deepest desires were the ones that troubled Tywin. Baelish was dangerous because he had an edge of unpredictability and a setting of knowledge that gave him a lot of scenarios to work upon, to scheme upon. No, Littlefinger could not be trusted, but he was useful. Resourceful. 

_For now._

"Lord Tywin", Baelish said, slightly opening his arms as a way of greating.

"Baelish", acknowledge Tywin, without raising his eyes from his cup of wine. "Sit", and as Baelish did so, he asked: "What do I owe the honor of your visit?"

"I believe there are a few matters in the Capital that requires your attention, Lord Tywin. One of them regarding the Queen's refusal to allow her son, the King, to marry his betrothed, the Lady Sansa". 

Tywin's hand froze halfway as he was raising the cup to his lips.  _What the fuck is Cersei doing now._ He clenched his jaw, annoyed at the new information, and stared at Baelish with a look that could've froze winter itself. Very softly, he asked: "What?"

"The Queen claims that it would be unwise to marry her son to the daughter of a traitor. She claims that Lady Sansa is stained with the act of her father and therefore she's unfit for joining the royal family." Silence fell upon the room whilst Tywin's annoyance grew with every passing second. "The Council agrees with her. They believe a more suitable match can be arranged."

"Oh, really? Do tell." 

"The Tyrells—"

"Rebelled against the crown", Lord Tywin interrupted coldly. "The Tyrells openly supported Renly's nonexistent claim to the throne, they openly rebelled against my grandson." 

"And perhaps they should be punish. After Stannis Baratheon and Robb Stark are defeated." 

Tywin's eyes narrowed as he considered the proposal. The Tyrells were the second wealthiest families in all of Westeros because of their land. They could provide the army the crown lacked to fight Stannis and the Stark boy. They could provide the support they needed. They could provide the food the Capital was craving. And they could fall once House Lannister recovered what this war had cost them.

Even better, his plans regarding the youngest Stark girl would not be affected at all. And with the Tyrells moving towards the Capital, the war would follow a course that would allow him to move as well. To  _finally_ move.  _  
_

When this notion settled in his mind, the tension left the room and Tywin politely asked: "So, Lord Baelish, you are proposing Margaery Tyrell as Joffrey's betrothed?"

"Exactly. Her father seems to fancy the idea of her daughter being queen as Margaery herself does. Apparently their loyalty to Renly died when the crown fell from his head." 

"So as long as we held the crown, we'll have the Tyrells in our hands." 

Baelish outlined that curious smirk of his and nodded. "And when the time comes—"

"They'll pay for their little act of rebellion." Tywin sighed deeply. "And Lady Sansa?"

Tywin watched Baelish carefully, looking for any type of reaction. A twitch of his eyes, a pull at his lips, a brief movement of his fingers. Anything. But Baelish was deadly quiet and showed no sign of disturbance. 

"I'm afraid I don't understand. What about Lady Sansa?"

"If Robb Stark dies, Sansa will become the heir to Winterfell now that her younger brothers are dead. We  _can't_ neglect what she represents", Lord Tywin raised his cup to take a sip of his wine and waited. Baelish seemed to be at a lost of words or ideas.  _Interesting._ "So?"

"I see your point, my Lord, but she's a hostage in King's Landing. The girl is not going to escape, it's impossible."

 _Is that so?_ "Arya escaped." Baelish froze as soon as those words left Tywin's lips. "But I guess I shouldn't be so impressed. She is, after all, incredibly smart. What assures me Lady Sansa won't escape as well? The Stark children have proved more than once that they're not stupid. I've heard Lady Sansa is quite charming. Maybe she'll charm her way out of the Capital." Baelish opened his mouth to answer but Tywin spoke again. "I'll command a few guards to keep an eye on her. At all times. She doesn't breathe without a guard at her heels."

There was a moment of silence as Tywin stared directly into Baelish's eyes, hoping he would get the message. _With Littlefinger you never know._

"About the youngest Stark girl—"

"Tell Cersei I don't appreciate being lied to. It's not the first mistake she makes during this war and I'm sick of it. Make sure she understands that." As soon as Baelish nodded, Tywin dismissed him with a flicker of his hand. However, Baelish lingered with a hint of uncertainty shining in his eyes. 

"If you don't mind me asking, my Lord, how do you know that little Arya Stark is incredibly smart?"

"I do mind. Leave." Without any further instruction, Baelish stood up. 

 _I have to move_ , he thought whilst he watched Baelish leave the room.  _With people such as Littlefinger you never know._

"Lefford", he called absentmindedly, sipping his wine, and when he appeared at the door, he commanded: "Fetch the girl." 

Finally, it was time. 

* * *

The air in the kitchen was heavy with the smell of food being prepared for dinner and vicious with the heat of the oven. Arya was sitting near Hot Pie whilst he knead some bread and she watched carefully the process. She was free of her duties for now since Lord Tywin had dismissed her after lunch and the heat of the forge was way more annoying than the heat of the kitchen, so she decided to spend some time with Hot Pie. His incessant mumbling about the process to prepare different kinds of food didn't bother her that much anymore.

Arya always prefered the coldest places, it reminded her of the North, but from time to time, the heat would also remind her of home. The smell of lemon cakes, the shouting in the kitchen, the burble of water boiling. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear her mother shouting for her to attend her lessons instead of hanging around the kitchen and bothering the servants. 

She never actually bothered them, though. They adored her, always giving her little treats and sweets. 

"Nan!", someone called her from the other side of the kitchen. "Where are you, girl? Lord Tywin wants you to go up there."

Arya sighed quietly and stood up. That was the end of her free evening. "Is he asking for dinner?"

"Don't know, Nan. Loren said he wanted us to fetch you."

"Fetch me?", she came closer to the voice calling her and realize it was Drox, one of Tywin's guards. He always seemed to be around her lately. Not that she gave it much thought, ever since she grew a pair of breasts a lot of stupid men seemed to be around her. "What am I? Some water?" 

Drox smiled slightly but didn't answer, following her closely as she climbed up the stairs of the Kingspyre Tower. Harrenhal was an old castle, tainted with fire, cursed with death. Arya had grown fond of it. Of it walls, of it whispers. It looked like an enchanted place but not enchanted like the castles in Sansa's songs, no. Enchanted as in  _haunted._ It gave people chills and the wailing of the wind passing through the cracks of the walls even scared some of the guards. Arya  _loved_ it. 

The guards outside Tywin's door were expecting her and they opened the door as soon as they saw her. Smiling sweetly at them—because she knew they would be more willing to do her little favors afterward if she smiled sweetly at them from time to time—she entered the room and the door closed softly behind her. Bowing briefly she greeted Lord Tywin and asked what he needed.

He was sitting near the window with a cup of wine in his hand. His posture was tense but not in a negative way—tense as if something good was about to happen, something he had been expecting. Arya's defenses were immediately up. Good things for Lannisters often meant bad things for Starks. 

He looked her in the eyes for a few seconds with a facial expression that revealed nothing. "Sit, my girl".

She complied without questioning and stared back at him, because that's what you did if Lord Tywin gave you an order; you obeyed. 

"A long time ago, when I asked you what killed your father, your answer was loyalty. Do you remember?". He was calmed, as calm as he always was, but something was off. Something was different. And that  _something_ was making Arya nervous. Lord Tywin stood up, cup of wine still in hand, and walked towards the window with slow steps. 

"I do, my Lord." 

"You didn't lie then." Arya frowned, mildly confused. Before she could answer, he continued, "But when I asked where are you from, you lied."

She tensed. "As you pointed out in that very moment, yes." 

"And you kept lying." 

"My lord, I—"

"Don't worry, Lady Arya, I would've done the same if I was the direct relative of a man leading a rebellion against the crown." 

 _Fuck._ Panic hit her like a wave. 

Arya looked around the room in a desperate attempt to find a escape route—a window, a door, a crack on the goddamn wall, _anything_ . She could feel her pulse quickening with adrenaline and her muscles ache for her to stand up, for her to run out, for her to actually _do something_. But she was shocked, froze in her placed.  _Terrified_. 

 _He's going to kill me_ , the irrational thought crossed her mind like an arrow. It was stupid, she knew it. She was more valuable alive. But the fear was there still.

Lord Tywin was looking at her completely calm, an unwavering figure who never lost his temper. Like a rock: unmovable, unchangeable. Unless it was forced to resist the persistent and constant movement of a force like air or water that would eventually mold the rock into a different shape through erosion, rocks could stay in the same shape, in the same stance, for years. For milleniums. Forever.

_I'm trapped. I'm dead._

“I have guards at the door, girl”, he said firmly. “You can't escape. You don't need to escape. I'm not going to harm you. I'm not going to send you to King's Landing by yourself. You are not in danger.”

_And why is every fucking nerve in my body telling me to run?_

Slowly, very slowly, she forced herself to relax. She forced herself to normalize her breathing, to relax her muscles, to sit properly in the chair instead of sitting in the edge, ready to jump. She gulped and looked at Lord Tywin through her eyelashes. _Calm as still water, fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

“What are you going to do with me, then? I'm afraid I don't understand, my Lord”, she thanked the Gods in silence when her voice came out of her mouth as steady as his. Firm and strong. _He can't know I'm afraid. Fear cuts deeper than swords and lions can smell fear just like wolves._

“I didn't expect you to understand. Not this soon, at least.”

“Will you trade me and my sister for your son?”

He stayed in silence for a few seconds, just looking at her. Then his lips twitched in a way Arya had learned meant he was suppressing a smile.

“No.”

“Why?”. The question left her lips even before she could process what she was about to say. _Control yourself, control your own mouth, control your face._ As an afterthought she added: “My lord.”

“You tell me. Why wouldn't I trade you and your sister for my firstborn son and heir?”

Arya took a deep breath and finally relaxed completely. _I can deal with this. It's just another one of his lesson. One step at a time._ Letting her eyes travel through the room, she thought about it. Why wouldn't he? It was driving him crazy that Jaime was a captive, have been a captive for such a long time, and that he practically had a sword hanging above his neck. It was driving him crazy that Robb had a Lannister in his hands and that he was getting away with it with complete impunity. It was driving him crazy yet he wouldn't trade her and Sansa for Jaime.

Why?

“I know too much”, she answered simply, letting dread sink into her heart again. Every war council, every move he had made or, more importantly, haven't made, every plan he had traced. She knew him. And knowing your enemy was half the battle. "And if Robb dies, Sansa is the key to the North."

_I'm trapped._

“At the Stark boys hands you are a weapon. A powerful one”, he agreed, looking at her with approval.

“So I'm a prisoner. And a hostage to ensure the Kingslayer's life”, Arya sighed quietly. “I'm a pawn in your game”.

Lord Tywin smiled, almost imperceptible, almost non-existent, but a smile nonetheless. A sad smile.

“Everyone's a pawn in this game, my girl.”

When Lord Tywin turned back to the window, Arya smiled as well, but it wasn't a sad smile at all. _Not if I find a way to move the pieces._

"You'll be treated as a guest. You will have maids to tend your needs and guards to make sure you don't try anything stupid." Her smile died on her lips. "One of your maids will make sure you learned to act like a lady, you'll need to behave in King's Landing."

"I thought you wouldn't send me to the Capital".

"Not by yourself. I'll go with you, I have matters to attend." Lord Tywin turned to look at her and nodded. "Lefford will guide you to your new chambers, Lady Arya".

She scowled, furious with the situation.  _I am no lady._ "Yes, Lord Tywin", she answered instead, her blood boiling. She knew it would do her no good to rebel against the man in front of her, she wasn't the stupid and reckless child she used to be, she'd learned.  _Control yourself, control your own mouth, control your face._ And with a graceful movement, she walked away.

_I'm trapped in the lion's den._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, it took me forever to write this (I kept getting distracted against my will) but it's finally here. I wanted to put Robb in this chapter, but I moved him to the next one (not that I know when I'm going to upload that one) so... yeah, I hoped you enjoyed this second chapter, as you know your opinions are always welcomed and thanks for reading!
> 
> And special thanks to everyone who reviewed and gave kudos to this work! You were the ones who encouraged me to try and regain my focus.


End file.
